


Reality

by Rahn (Rahndom)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/pseuds/Rahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim thinks he is going crazy, with the imaginary city, imaginary superhero and imaginary lover inside of his head. His brother will comfort him and keep him safe forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reality

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea while ridding the bus to work yesterday and I decided I loved it. Plus someone posted a fic about Tim being a mental patient and SNAP, a fic was born (I’m sorry, I don’t remember who posted said fic but if you guys can tell me I’ll be more than glad to credit!) It’s a horrible, horrible fic born from the darkest recesses of my deranged brain trying to vent out RL frustration into fictional worlds.

_He’s flying through the roofs of Gotham, feeling the night air in his face and the gentle flutter of his cape against his back. He’s never felt so free and happy in his life, he’s never felt such a sense of belonging._

_There is a soft laughter to his right and he can’t help but smile at Nightwing as the older man ruffles his hair, his arm wraps around his shoulders and the warmth engulfs him with that comforting scent of family._

_Of home._

_Far ahead Batman stares at them both, his lips relaxed in their stoic usualness, the closest he will get to a smile while his mentor in under the cowl, and the little Robin is shaking his head by his father, arms crossed over his chest._

_Tim grins, wanting to jump after them, to laugh out loud._

_He’s never been more complete._

***

He opens his eyes with a yawn when gentle fingers massage his aching forehead, the light entering the room from the window is pale and grey, not the usual Gotham morning light. He stares.

“Dick?” he asks tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

The other man smiles lightly, his deep blue eyes mournful as he sits on Tim’s bed, his hand grasping his own smaller one.

“I live here, Tim,” he told him patiently. “Remember? You are my little brother.”

Tim nods, because it’s obvious, they’ve considered eachother’s brother since Bruce brought Tim into the household, but this room, this bed…

It doesn’t look like the Manor.

It doesn’t look like his apartment either.

“Where am I?” he asks then, fingers touching the soft sheets around him. “What happened to my apartment?”

Dick’s eyes turn darker, his mouth curling into a saddened line.

“Tim, did you have that dream again?” he asks back. “About the man in the bat costume?”

“What?” Tim blinks, confused. What does Dick mean by ‘the man in the bat costume’? It’s Bruce! He should know Bruce.

“We’ve gone through this before, brother,” Dick sighs, his arms wrapping around Tim. “There is no man in the bat costume, Timmy, no gothic city. It’s all in your head.”

Tim’s eyes widen, before he is pushing himself away from Dick and opening his window to peer outside, what does Dick mean! Gothic City? Gotham is right there!! They live there and…

The landscape of upper side New York greets him from the window.

“New… York…” he whispers, feeling how his skin slowly loses warmth. With trembling legs he backs away from the window, eyes wide, wondering what happened to Gotham, to his flat, his life.

“Yes, Timmy,” Dick agrees, placing both hands on his shoulders. “We live here, remember? We’ve always lived here.”

Tim looks around the room and sees pictures of himself and Dick in various stages of development, Tim is ten, Dick is seventeen, Tim is fifteen, Dick is embracing Tim as he proudly holds his diploma.

New York spreads behind them in every photograph.

“Tim?” Dick asks, a worried frown marking his face. He doesn’t reply, his knees are too weak, he feels sick.

***

_He is sitting in a roof, staring at the city below him._

_The night is a particularly quiet one and he wants to enjoy every sight, every sound._

_He has missed his Gotham so much while he was away._

_“Hey, Baby Bird,” Jason calls as he lands by his side, his guns clicking as he plops to his right._

_“Hey,” he greets back, smiling. “Rough night?”_

_Jason’s lower lip is cut but that doesn’t stop him from grinning from ear to ear, his hair blowing to the fleeting summer breeze._

_“Nah, just the usual,” he replies. “The little brat’s birthday is tomorrow right?”_

_Tim laughs._

_“Alfred contacted you as well?” he asks, shaking his head. “He wants us all at the Manor to celebrate.”_

_“I’m betting the kid is not gonna like it,” Jason musses, his grin impossibly wide._

_“He’s not used to celebrations in his honor, I’ll bet,” Tim agrees. “The Al Ghul family didn’t look like they would celebrate a thing.”_

_“No, they don’t,” the Red Hood says, legs dangling from the rooftop._

_They stare at the city in silence for a moment, both enraptured by their beauty._

_“I guess I’ll get him a hunting knife or something,” Jason finally shrugs, prompting another laugh from Tim._

_“Bruce is not going to like it,” he says, finally turning to stare at his estranged older brother._

_“It will be funny, at least.”_

_“It will,” Red Robin laughs. “I’m glad you are … back.”_

_Both stare at eachother’s, awkwardly smiling at the other, afraid to break whatever peaceful truce has been struck in the last few months._

_“I’m glad you are back too, baby bird.”_

***

“You know mentally unstable patients do not get better out of sheer force of will, Timothy,” Doctor Monroe says, staring at his notes. “Especially the sociopathic kind.”

“I know but… Jason always was the strongest,” Tim says, his eyes trained to his clenched hands.

“Timothy, that dream alone should be proof that you are trying to create a perfect universe in your head,” the doctor sighs. “Your delusion is trying to replace the real world with a more pleasant scenario, a child’s dream gaining details as you grow older.”

“It is so real,” the teen finally accepts, eyes clenching shut. “The memories, the life… my family.”

“They are not your family, Timothy,” the doctor admonishes gently. “We’ve been through this over and over again. This fabricated family of yours is not real. Richard is your family, your parents were your family, but not these imaginary people of yours.”

“But…”

“Think about it, Timothy,” the doctor continues. “The father figure might be a superhero, but he is clearly an emotionally damaged sociopath with an interrupted Oedipus complex that forces him to fight his preconceived evil, the children, your so-called brothers, are all stereotypes of mental symptomatology. A young man in histrionic denial, another trying to express his PTSD by means of violence, the young woman with clear autistic signs and the child longing for acceptance while afraid of getting close to others.”

“That’s not true!” Tim protests, looking up.

“They are all aspects of your own insecurities, Timothy,” Dr. Monroe insists, his hands tightening on his notepad. “You have to accept it.”

“They are my family…” Tim whimpers. “They loved me when no one else would.”

“Your brother loves you, Tim,” the doctor repeats. “Your parents loved you. This people inside of your head… they can’t love you, they are not real.”

Tim bites his lips, fingers trembling over his knees.

Dr. Monroe stares at him, at his tight hands, his pale face and slowly tearing eyes, before he sighs slowly, shaking his head.

“I’m going to give you a mild sedative, for the nightmares,” he says, writing. “And we will meet back next week. “

“Yes, Dr. Monroe,” Tim says softly, shoulders tight.

“Tim, please think about this,” the man begs. “You are a brilliant young man, your potential is being wasted in this dreams of yours.”

“They don’t feel like dreams to me,” he snaps, tears rolling down his snowy cheeks.

“I know they don’t,” the doctor says, placing a hand over Tim’s. “I’m sure ever since the accident things have not been the same for you, but these delusions of yours are only stopping you from seeing what you are missing here, in the real world.”

Tim doesn’t reply, his teeth sinking into his lower lip once more.

“You have a future ahead of you,” the doctor continues. “A brother that adores you, a university waiting for you, damn if you wanted to you could be the next great novelist.”

“But I have to let the Batman go,” Tim says, his voice a quiet whisper.

“But you have to let the Batman go,” Dr. Monroe echoes, his fingers tightening over Tim’s gently. “Take a break, think about it, and please, if you have any other of those nightmares, call me, no matter the time.”

Tim nods, standing from the leather couch and walking towards the door, he is going to take the long walk home.

He needs to think.

***

_“Happy birthday, Demon Brat!” Jason laughs, ruffling Damian’s short black hair and making him growl and hiss, the family laughs, Bruce smiles gently, and Tim pretends he doesn’t think it’s the perfect ending for a long day. Cass laughs softly as Steph tries to coax Damian into making a wish while Dick snaps pictures. Bruce shakes his head, eyes shining proudly as he tries to pry the knife from Jason’s hand without making it too obvious._

_Alfred is holding the cake in his aged hands, the glow of the candles illuminating his face and the way his own small smile is full of pride and warmth._

_Selina is trying to hide the box she holds in her hands behind her back, they all know it’s a kitten by the way Titus tries to stick his nose into the box repeatedly but none will utter a word, they all want to see the look of hidden delight in the youngest Robin’s face._

_Damian finally looks around at everyone before his determined eyes land on the candles in front of his face, his lips move lightly, almost unperceptively before he takes a deep breath and blows all the light from the cake._

_Cheers fill the room as Bruce turns the lights on once more, everyone is clapping, Dick is hooting happily and Jason is mock-strangling Damian and laughing loudly._

_Cass approaches Tim with a confused frown on her face._

_“Who is Caroline Hill?” she asks him quietly, ignoring the way Bruce and Alfred seem to turn to the two of them without seeming too obvious about it._

_“Uh?” Tim asks, blinking. “Why?”_

_“That was little Damian’s wish,” she whispers, blinking. “He wanted to go on a date with Miss Caroline Hill.”_

_There is a soft snort echoing in the air as Alfred turns to start cutting the cake and Bruce’s eyes go wide._

_Tim’s cheeks flush._

_“Are you… sure, Cass?” he asks, hesitant. She nods._

_“I didn’t know Damian had a girlfriend,” she says, a small smile on her thin lips. Tim feels heat spreading down his neck._

_“He doesn’t,” he supplies, trying to gulp down the sudden lump sticking to his throat. “I’m not even sure he knows who Caroline Hill is.”_

_“He must, if he wants to date Miss Hill,” Cass says surely, nodding. Tim sighs._

_“If that’s what he wants, then I guess it would be cruel to deny his wish, right?”_

_Cass nods, still smiling._

_They observe as Damian starts unwrapping Selina’s gift and Dick snaps a thousand more pictures. Tim already planning where Damian and Caroline will go the following evening._

_The movies, perhaps?_

***

Dick finds him sitting on a bench in the park, face drawn and eyes red rimmed. He has been crying again, the older man can tell. He always cries after his sessions with Dr. Monroe.

“I’m not crazy,” Tim whispers as he approaches, his voice hoarse and restrained.

“I know you are not,” Dick replies, wrapping his arms around him and burying his nose in Tim’s hair. “Your world is just bigger than usual.”

‘Is that such a bad thing?’ Tim wants to ask. ‘Can’t I stay with my delusions and be happy?’

“Tell me about the accident again?” he asks instead, relaxing when Dick’s arms tighten around him and his full lips lay a soft kiss on top of his head.

“It was my birthday,” Dick whispers. “Mr. and Mrs. Drake were picking you up after school and you were all coming to get me at NYU. You know how nice they’d been with me since they adopted me and all.”

Tim doesn’t, but Dick has told him over and over again how Mrs. Drake adopted him after his own parents died because she wanted to get a playmate for shy and frail Timothy. How Mr. Drake and Mrs. Drake slowly warmed up to him until they considered young Richard a son and Tim’s older brother, his protector.

To him Dick is Bruce’s first son, the first Robin to soar the skies of Gotham, the first one to hug him without a reason, the first human to show him real despair.

He nods slowly.

“Well,” Dick continues, his fingers carding over Tim’s hair as his lips brush his forehead. It’s a sad memory for Dick, Tim knows, every time they touch the subject he clings to him, tries to keep him as close as possible, to reassure himself. “It was raining and the road was dark, you and I were talking on the phone when you said a truck had lost control ahead of you and then there was the screech of tires, the screams…”

Dick swallows, his hands tightening and relaxing over and over as he takes a deep breath.

“They said Mr. and Mrs. Drake died instantly, and you were on a coma for almost a year, Tim,” he whispers finally, resting his forehead on Tim’s slender shoulder. “I thought I would lose you as well… and”

“And when I woke up…” Tim finishes for him. “There was Gotham and Batman and Robin inside of my head.”

“It was a traumatic accident,” Dick supplies, his face snuggling into the crook of Tim’s neck.

He shivers, his eyes lost in the scenery before them.

“Dad’s chest was pierced…” he says suddenly, making Dick look up. “Shinning silver metal.”

“Tim,” Dick whispers.

“A boomerang…” Tim whispers, clearly seeing his father’s corpse lying on the carpeted floor. “Was it a boomerang?”

“The Doctors said it was a piece of scrap metal, it could have a weird shape,” the older man encourages. “Do you remember?”

The image is so clear in his head, as clear as the feeling of Bruce’s arms as they pull him away from the blood, from his dad’s sightless eyes and the stench and suddenly he is in the backseat of a car and his mother is screaming that he has to duck and his father is frantically tugging at the steering wheel and scraps of metal are raining on them like a silvery rain and…

“Dad moved the car,” he says and feels tears stream down his own face. “He wanted the impact to hit his side so Mom and I would not be harmed.”

Dick is instantly cradling him against his chest as he breaks down into heaving sobs, his smaller hands clinging to his brother’s jacket desperately. He calls out for his father and his mother and the small, almost shy smiles he can picture in their faces as they stand proudly over him, he tries to reconcile the horrible image his mind has conjured of his mother’s body been crushed as a particularly large piece of metal is flung into the windshield and on top of her seat.

He cries for them as well as for Gotham, for Bruce and Jason and Damian and the Titans and everyone he has ever loved that, now he can see, is only a figment of his traumatized imagination.

***

_Damian is walking young Caroline to her door, the gentleman, his hand gently holding her own. The girl laughs softly when he opens the door for her and bows a little, his own small smile relaxed, as he leads her in._

_“Would you like to stop for a cup of coffee?” she asks, wriggling her eyebrows and he flushes brightly, reminding her he is only a little boy deep inside._

_“I do not think it would be appropriate,” he replies, his hand tight on hers. “Father and the others are probably awaiting my return.”_

_“Of course,” she says gently, kissing his cheek. “I had a great night, Damian, thank you.”_

_“I also found this evening quite pleasing,” he says, his hand reaching to caress her ivory cheek. “However there is only one thing that would make it perfect.”_

_“Really?” she asks fondly. “What?”_

_And Caroline is really puzzled. She wore her favorite cream dress, the one that hides the small size of her breasts and accentuates the curve of her legs and has the hand-made lazy borders that caress her skin teasingly, the flat sandals that hug her feet and make them look doll-like and of course, the soft pink lip gloss that turns her mouth into a subtle pout._

_What could she have missed?_

_Damian’s thumb caresses her lower lip before his left hand reaches towards her hair and removes the wig, letting Tim’s black hair spill and caress his neck for the first time during the day._

_“I would like to kiss Timothy and not Caroline, at the end of my date,” he whispers shyly, his muscles tense with the fear of rejection that is clearly reflected in his eyes._

_Tim sheds Caroline’s giggles and gentle movements and his hand grasps Damian’s in his own before his tongue peeks to lick the pad of his thumb._

_“I think I would like that, Mr. Wayne,” he whispers, his voice losing Caroline’s girlish tones._

_“Me too, Mr. Drake-Wayne,” Damian replies softly, his hands sliding to rest on top of his shoulders._

_They lean towards eachother’s in perfect unison and pretend not to be shocked by the small, electric thrill that runs over their bodies when their lips finally make contact. It is not a fraternal kiss like the ones Tim shares with Dick and Jason, nor is it a mock one like the ones he receives during undercover missions, it is something deep, something unique._

_It feels like coming home after a long trip._

_Like he finally found something he has been looking for his whole life._

***

 “Timmy?” Dick asks, making the younger man blink. “What are you staring at?”

Tim turns from Dick towards the display window where the new spring season clothes are on sale. The lace filled dress hangs in front of him as a teasing reminder of a dream long gone. Of a giggling girl with honey-colored hair that made him feel confident and flirty and all the things he was too embarrassed to show.

He can almost feel the cotton of the dress sliding against his thighs as Damian’s fingers untie his sandals reverently, the moon as the only witness to the one night the two of them shared.

No, he shakes his head.

That never happened, there was no Damian Wayne raining clumsy kisses against his collarbone as the dress pooled at his feet, there was no darkened apartment with his squeaky bed that protested when they fell on it, there was no moon illuminating the Gotham sky.

He has to let go of all those fantasies if he wants to start a normal life.

He gives Dick a small smile.

“The new IPhone,” he mutters, pointing at the display behind the clothes. “I was thinking we should upgrade ours?”

Dick laughs, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and resting his chin on top of his hair.

“You are such a geek,” he laughs. “Your phone works just fine and so does mine.”

“But the new one’s better!” he mock protests, pouting.

Dick continues to laugh as he drags him away from the store and towards the little diner they have claimed as their own Wednesday spot for dinner, hands snuggly entwined.

***

_Damian’s naked skin seems to glow against the morning sun as he lies on his side on Tim’s bed, his eyes holding a gentle hue of blue as they lock with his own pale ones._

_“Your father is going to kill us,” Tim whispers, his head resting on his folded hands as he mirrors Damian’s posture._

_“Father is going to kill me,” Damian corrects. “I clearly corrupted you.”_

_“I’m older,” Tim counters, his smile curling his lips bruised by the other Robin’s kisses._

_“You are perfect Timothy,” the younger boy says with a small shrug. “And I am the Demon brat. I know you are his favorite and I know it should be torture but…”_

_“But…?” Tim questions, leaning forward._

_“You are my favorite as well,” Damian whispers, his hand caressing Tim’s bare hip. “The thought that Father appreciates you as well is pleasing instead of distressing.”_

_“You will always be his son, Damian,” Tim says, frowning._

_“And so will you,” he comments, snorting. “Does that make this an incestuous relationship?”_

_Tim laughs, the sound echoing in the room._

_“Maybe.”_

_“Grayson will probably cry and Todd will be amused.”_

_“Most likely.”_

_Damian stares as Tim laughs for a moment before rolling over Tim’s body, his eyes glinting against the scare light._

_“Another round of incestuous depravity, then?” he asks._

_“Absolutely.”_

***

Dick stares as Tim sleeps, his smaller body curling on itself as he tries to find comfort on the enormous bed the two of them share. His little brother always curls like that when he is trying to forget one of those ‘dreams’ he still has about Gotham and Batman and the others.

His hand reaches out to caress Tim’s dark hair, idly thinking he will be needing another hair cut soon, or he will start looking like a girl again and getting the wrong sort of attention.

Tim hates it.

“I will always protect you, Timmy,” he whispers, leaning forward to lay a soft kiss on his pale cheek. “From everything.”

Because Tim has always been, will always be special to him. He will always be the little boy with wide eyes and fierce determination he has watched grow into a fine young man. The fearless little one that plunged head in to protect him, to make him happy.

Which is why he would do anything for him.

Why he bought this apartment for the two of them to live in, right in the heart of New York’s most booming neighborhood where Tim can study and live the Cultural Revolution.

Why he patiently holds Tim’s hand and helps him deal with his usual bouts of depression.

Why he painstakingly accompanies him to each and every session with Dr. Monroe and makes sure he eats and drinks healthily.

Why he makes sure Tim never skips his medicines or a good night’s sleep.

Why he silently gets out of bed and tiptoes silently towards the balcony where a tall man in red, blue and gold is waiting for him.

“What do you want?” he hisses, tensing as the man floats in front of him, blue eyes barely hidden by the golden helmet he is wearing.

“Your father is looking for the two of you,” the man says calmly, arms crossed over his chest. “The world is crumbling without you both there to support the burden of the Ba—“

“Don’t say that name,” Dick growls, his hands tightening. “Never say that name again.”

“The boy is going mad,” the floating man says simply. “He refuses to accept he might be dead.”

“It was part of our deal, wasn’t it?” the younger man says, eyes narrowing. “I keep Axel Asher alive and thus your universe and you convinced everyone we were dead.”

“You want me to fool the World’s Greatest Detective, Richard Grayson.”

“Listen, Strangefate,” Dick spits. “I don’t care what you have to do, we had a deal and I’m honoring it. You should do it as well.”

“I kept my part of our agreement, Richard Grayson,” Dr. Strangefate says, tilting his head. “I staged yours and your brother’s death and brought you two to a universe separated from all others, one where no superhero has ever or will ever live.”

“Exactly,” Dick growls. “And you will be breaking your word if B and the others manage to sneak in here.”

“Correct,” the other man says, nodding.

“Then you better do something or I won’t guarantee Asher’s safety any longer.”

Dr. Strangefate frowns, his eyes narrowing to mirror Dick’s, before he gives him a brief nod.

“I will keep you informed, Richard Grayson,” he sighs, the only expression of human emotion Dick has ever seen since the time they became acquainted before a shimmering portal opens in front of him and Dr. Strangefate disappears from their dimension.

With a tired huff, Dick leans against the railing, his eyes set on New York’s skyline.

Yes, Tim always was his most precious little brother. He was sweeter than Jason, more dependent and frail, more caring that Bruce or even Alfred in all his stoic love. He was always staring at him with those intelligent and reverent eyes, as if Dick himself had hung the moon and kept the world turning.

The feeling of elation at such open adoration had warmed something in Dick’s chest that he thought he had lost the moment his parents had fallen to their deaths.

But Bruce was suddenly gone and that horrible burden of the Bat had fallen over Dick and he was forced to take such terrible decisions, to choose to take Damian as his Robin, if only to keep his beautiful and perfect Tim out of harm’s way.

Yet, of course, Tim had to go on his way and create a new persona for himself, a new costume and a new mission, something that took him far away from Dick, from his warmth.

Dick thought he was going to die, as he shouldered Bruce’s legacy, tried to teach his son how to become a human being and spent sleepless nights looking for his sweet little brother.

And then Bruce was back and Tim was by his side, that proud little smile of his lighting his face and making Dick think he could finally fix his mistakes, mend all that he had broken and return to their accustomed bliss, when Tim announced he would not become Robin any longer, that he was fine on his own and that he wanted to see the world, to work on his own pet-projects and create a web of information that would serve their purpose for years to come.

Dick’s world lost its grounding as he saw his precious Timothy, his little brother, his love, packing his things as he whistled a soft tune – classical, most likely – and told Bruce about the apartment he had found for himself and how nice it felt to have a place of his own, the freedom of his own realm.

Bruce had laughed – fool, didn’t he see what was happening? Didn’t he understand Tim was leaving them?! – and patted his shoulder, promising to send a few bats to decorate his son’s lair. Alfred had nodded, forcing the teen to promise he would come once a month at least to eat dinner with them, and Jason – the fool, of course Dick knew of his intentions even then – had tried to smuggle Tim’s key to make a copy for himself.

Damian, on the other hand, had stared at Tim with an unreadable look in his eyes before he had left with a huff and Dick had shaken his head, not really seeing the disappointment in that childish face.

But Dick could still fix it all, would fix it all, as long as Tim was away from Bruce he was still free to look out for him, take care of him.

He had packed his own things and left the Manor a week later, claiming that Father and Son should get reacquainted with eachother’s and he was only in the way.

Crashing at Tim’s for a while was the perfect excuse.

Tim, beautiful, sweet Tim, had welcomed him with open arms and that same small smile of years past and their family life had resumed, away from the Bat and the Hood and Robin, away from all that could separate them.

Nightwing and Red Robin.

Together again.

Years of perfection followed, with Tim growing lovelier and lovelier with each passing day, blooming like a flower under his tender care. Making Dick more and more proud with his accomplishments, the way he was the first Tim would seek out whenever he had something important to say, to show, to create. The way he always sought Dick out after patrol, a cup of steaming tea in his hands, ready for him.

Just for him.

And then, while he was watching for Jason’s not-so-subtle approaches, Damian had snuck into their wonderful life, had snatched Tim’s heart and robbed him of his precious innocence, of the wide eyed wonder that was his Tim.

Dick couldn’t believe it when he came home after a long night of patrol, of making sure Robin would not be missed in Gotham, to find the Demon Brat himself, his former pupil, the one he had tried to turn from beast to a human, gently caressing Tim’s naked body, kissing his skin with tongue and teeth, marking him as his own.

Tim, perfect little brother, Tim, had only smiled, moaned, asked for more of Damian, all of him, completely ignorant to Dick’s presence in the house, in the doorway to his bedroom.

Completely ignoring him.

 No, he couldn’t allow it. Couldn’t allow Damian who had it all – he was Bruce’s real child, the future Batman, the real heir, the real son – to steal the only thing Dick had ever claimed as his own, the only piece of heaven he had permitted himself to take.

Damian couldn’t have Tim.

He wouldn’t let him.

Zatanna would have told him he was selling his soul to the devil by making a deal with Dr. Strangefate, but only a wizard accustomed to different dimensions and shifts in realities could guarantee him a safe place away from Damian, which would mean away from Bruce and in turn, away from harm.

Timothy’s innocence had to be protected. His little brother had to be saved.

Nothing could touch his Tim.

Tim who was the only pure thing in the dirty world they lived in.

Nothing in the world would stop Bruce from finding them.

Therefore, they changed their world.

“Dick?” Tim calls, eyes sleepily staring at him from the bed. “Are you okay?”

Dick’s face instantly relaxes into his usual smile, the cheerful grin that only Tim sees nowadays, the smile he has reserved just for him.

“It’s nothing, Timmy,” he reassures as he walks back into the room and into bed, his arms instantly wrapping around his little brother. “Just had a bad dream.”

“Want to talk about it?” Tim offers, his head resting on Dick’s strong shoulder.

Dick turns to him his eyes locking with Tim’s pale, moonlit ones. There is still the shadows of depression and doubt in there, the loneliness he has forced on his beautiful Tim and it makes him feel guilty, guilty that he has removed Tim from everything he knew, from his family, his friends, his purpose, that he has made Tim believe he is insane, but then his eyes land on the small scar on Tim’s shoulder, the one innocently connecting with the one on his neck.

The place where Jason cut his neck open.

The place where Damian, horrible Damian, stabbed him with a sword.

No, Tim will always be safe and pure.

He must always be safe and pure.

“Nah,” he says, kissing his baby’s forehead. “I forgot most of it already.”

“If you are sure,” Tim sighs, letting out a small, kittenish yawn. Dick wants to coo. “Good night, Dick.”

“Good night, little brother,” the older man whispers, preparing himself for another night watching his brother sleep.

Everything in his world will be fine as long as Tim is by his side.

He knows it.


End file.
